The Predator
By
Byron Edgington
“Hey, sis, I gotta go…late for work…keep me posted on the thing… Yeah, the thing, the, you know… And thanks for the update on the carjacker. They’ll find the guy soon, don’t worry.” Katherine Boyd fiddled with her car keys, scrunched her iPhone between her shoulder and ear, and glanced at her watch. Seven-forty-one. “Gotta run, Jan… Yeah, for sure… I’ll let you know… Uh-huh, right… Soon as I get downtown, sis, I promise.” She looked at cars already backing up a half mile away on the entrance ramp to 495 and the Capitol Beltway, brake lights flickering to mark the morning commute into DC. She almost dropped the phone, grabbed it just in time and flipped her purse onto the cartop luggage rack. “Talk later, Jan, have a good… Yeah, you, too, girlfriend.” Katherine tore the door open, leapt into the car and fumbled with her keys. “Seven-forty-three, damn! Janet you’re a world-class worry wart, just like mom.” Hands shaky, she found the ignition, switched it over and the engine roared. “….still there? Hello?” Where was that voice coming from? Katherine cocked her head sideways, engine humming, the door ajar bell beep, beep, beeping in her ear. It was Janet.
“Kat, you still there?”
“Oh, Janet, I thought I hung this darned thing up. Sorry, hope I didn’t make you… What’s that?”
“Just reminding you. Call me when you get to the office. They think he’s in Springfield. He was last seen in a dark Toyota of some kind…”
“Jan, I’ll be careful, I promise. You’re so sweet to worry about me, but what are the chances? The last attack was way over in Tyson’s Corner, and… I know, I know. Sis, there are a lot of red haired single women who commute into DC. Good Lord, I can’t worry about every predator out there, I’d never leave the house. I know… I love you, too, goodbye. Call you later.” Katherine touched the little red button. The phone function shut down and the screen filled in with apps icons. Without looking, she dropped the phone where her purse should have been. She stretched her seat belt tight, clicked it locked and dropped the Subaru’s gearshift into reverse. Backing out of the driveway onto Thomas Drive she steered south to Franconia Road, then headed west toward the freeway. The April sun warmed her through the driver’s side window, and she cracked it open an inch or two for cooling air, allowing a bit of the outside into the car. “Sorry, sis, I can’t breathe in here.”
She smiled at her kid sister’s proprietary phone calls, one every morning since the so called DC Jacker had driven three young, red-haired women off the road and stolen their vehicles in the last six weeks. One of the women had resisted, apparently. She was still in intensive care at GWU, and unconscious. A dark sedan passed by going north on Thomas. When the driver honked at her for some reason, out of instinct, Katherine touched the button to raise the window. Then she stopped. “For god’s sake, you tell your kid sister not to worry, and then you…” Feeling defiant, she zipped the window all the way down, cool morning air pouring in, kissing her cheeks. “There, see Janet, I’m still alive, imagine.”
Just as the window glass stopped with a thunk, a light glowed on the panel: ‘Check Engine.’ “….the hell?” Katherine looked at the dashboard clock: Seven-forty-five. “Damn…should’a left earlier.” She pressed the gas pedal and raced toward the access road.
The twenty-minute drive into the Ag Department from Springfield put her on I-395 east by seven-forty, past the Lincolnia Mall, to route 27 passing the Pentagon and across the 14th Street Bridge into DC by seven-fifty—barring tie-ups and interruptions. Crossing the bridge by seven-fifty-three every morning, she’d drive north to D Street, then turn right into her parking lot south of the office. By seven-fifty-five she’d greet old Mister Slattery the attendant, who’d direct her to her slot across the street from the office. If the routine held, Kate would be at her desk on the fourth floor of the Department of Agriculture by eight A.M. Rather than worry about being late, like Janet always did, Katherine Boyd took pride in arriving exactly to the minute, and being able to deal with any contingency along the way to make it happen. “You redheads are all alike,” her mother said. “Daredevils and scofflaws.”
Sister Janet nodded in agreement, her blond locks bouncing as their mother twisted her fingers like worry beads. Janet envied Kate’s nonchalance, and her diffidence, wishing she was more like her big sister, and their father. Red Boyd had retired from the Marine Corps after thirty years. Gunnery Sergeant Boyd had given Katherine the aggressive attitude he’d practiced himself, the bold posture and hard-charging mentality that propelled him up through the ranks of the Corps, the lessons he would have given a son, if he’d had one. “It’s a jungle out there, carrot top,” he’d say, squeezing Kate’s shoulders. “Go after ‘em, or they’ll go after you.” Katherine missed her dad; considering their bond, and their shared temperament his death a year before hit her hard.
She stopped at Franconia Road and headed for the entrance ramp, flipped her right signal on and glared at the check engine light. “Too damn bad,” she said. “No time for you right now, you’ll just have to wait.” She saw a break in traffic, lunged ahead and turned into the stream of cars angling toward the freeway. Behind her, a blue-black SUV honked, and the driver seemed to wave at her. Kate glanced at the mirror. “Gimme a break, man. Jeez, you’d think people had broken glass for breakfast.” Then the SUV driver flashed his lights. She checked the rearview again, and her middle finger started up, then she dropped it. “Not gonna ruin my day, man. Get over yourself.” She flicked the signal on, and followed the flow of vehicles onto I-495 North. As soon as she reached highway speed the SUV driver roared ahead on the right. Stopping beside her, the man gestured wildly, and then raced on. Kate shook her head, and stared at the car in front of her. “Give it a rest, pal.”
At precisely seven-forty-two she cruised past Lincolnia Mall, the mammoth sign by the freeway advertising Sears, Macys, Nordstrom, Wendys, Barnes & Noble. Traffic pressed ahead, a sea of cars snaking northeast toward DC. At seven-forty-four she checked her speed: Fifty miles per hour. Ahead, near route 420 brake lights blossomed, a string of red weaving back toward her. “Great. Must be a wreck.” She tapped the cruise control off, and the Subaru slowed. Forty-five, forty, thirty-five miles per hour. The sign read: Seminary Road/Route 420 East ½ mile. She looked over her shoulder, put her right blinker on and squeezed ahead of a green Ford Focus. She raised her hand to thank the driver for letting her in. When she did, the woman jabbed a finger at her, then upward, toward the roof of her car. Pam ignored it, then the check engine light flickered again and she looked down. “Jesus, what next?” She steered onto the exit lane, and turned east on Seminary Road.
Off the freeway, racing ahead toward route 402, Kate mapped out her detour. She’d bypass the snarl, go further east to Jeff Davis alongside National Airport and reach the bridge that way. “That’ll work, unless it’s bottled up at…” Then a blood red Toyota pulled in behind her. She saw the man waving, trying to flag her down. Kate squinted at the mirror, leaning forward for a better look. Her finger hovered on the window switch, then went back to the wheel. “Get real, Kat. The guy’s just goofing off.” At the intersection on 402 she caught the light, turned north, and noticed that the dark vehicle had sped up, zipping through the red light behind her, matching her speed and direction. Pam looked in the mirror again. The man in the dark car had his finger aimed at her Subaru, the barrel of a pistol pointing at her. “Man, what is it this morning? Is everybody just jumpy about this nut case stealing cars or what?” She saw the man point again. This time his hand swept sideways, motioning her to pull over. He closed the gap between their cars, close enough Pam could make out his features. The fellow leaned forward, no seat belt, his beard full, black, bushy. His teeth gleamed, like in that toothpaste ad on TV when she was a kid. “What in the..?” Her hand found the toggle and she zipped the window shut.
When the glass thudded closed, her harsh breathing filled the car. She couldn’t stop looking at the rearview. Trying to check it, she moved her eyes up, keeping her head steady so he wouldn’t notice. “You can turn off any old time, pal.” The fellow stayed right on her tail. Driving north on 402, Kate swallowed hard, careful to time the lights. She checked the clock: seven-fifty. “Dammit.” The road was clear, so she pressed the accelerator, and ignored the speed limit sign.
Forty miles-per-hour. Forty-five. Fifty—in a residential zone. She didn’t care. The dark Toyota stayed with her, the man jabbing his finger at her, hand sweeping, ordering her to stop. “Jesus! Okay, Kat, stay cool. Just keep driving. Don’t look in the mirror…do not look… Where’s a cop when you need one?” Her heart thumped and her mouth turned to cotton. “Wait till you hear about this, sister.” Then she thought of it, the little Beretta .32 Caliber Janet told her to get. “Never thought you’d talk me into a handgun, worry wart, but…” She reached for the purse…gone. Her heart rate spiked, a chill over washing her. “Where in the hell?” Blinking, sweat dripping into her eyes, Katherine looked down. The seat was empty. Then she remembered. “On top of the damn car, airhead. Jesus, that’s why those people were…”
Behind her, a beard and gleaming teeth filled the fellow’s front window. He waved his arm at her, frantic, pointing at the curb. He flashed his lights, honked his horn. “He’s just trying to tell you… Trying to help…” Janet’s voice echoed. “Call me when you get to the office…tailing red headed girls and stealing their cars…dark Toyota… Kate couldn’t stop herself; she looked in the mirror. The news reports listed various warnings, things to avoid, things to watch for. “He uses all kinds of ploys to get womens’ attention, Kate, to get their vehicles.’ She studied the mirror again. “Maybe he’s alerting me to the purse, but maybe he saw it hanging there, left on the car by a frantic, overwhelmed airhead who was late for work and he saw his chance. Real predators are attuned to that stuff, Kat, like dad said, they can smell weakness in their prey, and they pounce at the first opportunity.” Katherine Boyd steered her Subaru around a stalled truck, startling the guy changing a flat. “Sorry, man, I gotta shake this guy.” She looked up again. Still there; still waving, gaining on her bumper. “Or maybe he’s not a predator, Kate. Maybe he’s being a nice guy, and trying to… In DC? What are the chances? Give your kid sister a break for once. The guy’s tailing you for a reason, trying to…” Speeding up, she raced north toward the entrance ramp back onto 395. But traffic on the freeway was stopped. Red taillights stretched north, cars linked like an ammo belt. She looked at the clock: seven-fifty-one. “Late now, anyway,” she said, punching the gas pedal.
Talking to herself in the sultry car, she tore across the freeway bridge. At Arlington Mills Road she saw the light turn yellow, mashed the accelerator and rolled the steering wheel over. “Better call Marshall. He’ll be pissed, but at least I’ll get there… Jesus, he’s still…gotta shake this jerk first, Katherine, then worry about the boss. Janet’s the worry wart, remember?” Tires squealing, she veered left, rushed through the intersection and roared northwest on the feeder road. When she banked left, the cell phone slid off the seat, and fell into the opposite doorwell. “Oh, that’s just great!” She slammed the wheel. Then she looked in the mirror. The bearded fellow was right with her. “Just great. Jesus, what a morning.”
The check engine light blinked again. Katherine looked at the panel. Seven-fifty-nine. Then the oil pressure did a herky-jerky jump. The needle fell to zero and a red light flashed. “Terrific, what else can..?” Kate glanced at the clock. Seven-fifty-nine. “Can’t stop now, dammit!” She slammed the wheel again, checked the mirror. Her heart pounded. She gulped, hard, making her throat ache. Her eyes teared up and she felt the first wave of panic. “Stop it, Boyd. Just drive the damn car!” He was right on her tail, beard filling the mirror, headlights flashing. “Okay, Kate… Go after ‘em, or they’ll go after you, remember?” Her dad’s face shimmered in front of her. She saw Red Boyd swagger through the door at home, punch her shoulder and smile at her. “Jungle out there, carrot top.” Saw her dad pick her up when she was little, toss her in his arms like a rag doll, blow hot air against her tummy making that awful blurping sound that made her laugh, and made her mother yell at him…’stop that Red, she’ll pee her pants!’
Katherine saw her folks standing in the doorway. A September morning, sunlight a hazy gauze as the school bus lumbered to a stop by the curb, her first day of first grade, when Janet was still in a crib. Saw crusty, hardcore Red Boyd swipe at something on his cheek. Saw her mother hug him, say something, punch his shoulder as the bus rocked, lurched forward and pulled away in a stink of blue smoke. She heard them warn her, ‘don’t talk to strangers,’ ‘look both ways,’ ‘stay together downtown,’ ‘be home by eleven,’ ‘buckle up.’ Out of instinct she touched her seat belt. “Okay, Red, what do we do now?”
Weaving and erratic on the service road, she passed a mini-mall, then a small truck stop. He stayed with her. There was a knot of men in the parking lot, milling around trucks, Styrofoam coffee cups lifting to lips, cigarettes angling from creased and mustached faces. He was right behind her. She tore into the parking lot, tires crying, dust fuming upward. The man followed her in. Jamming the pedal, she locked the brakes and the Subaru careened sideways. Kate stopped beside the gaggle of startled truckers, jammed the gearshift into park and banged the door open. With the door alarm beep, beep, beeping at her, she leapt from the car, scrambled to the side where the green plaid purse hung on the luggage rack. It had snagged sideways, its contents swirling out, flying into the wind across the freeway, down Franconia Road, 395, Route 402 and Arlington Mills, and scattering over the feeder road. Her driver’s license, credit cards, seven utility bills franked and ready to mail, her birth control prescription needing to be filled, Janet’s birthday card, all littering the highway somewhere between home and this parking lot.
The purse was empty—except for the little gun. It had wedged into the bottom fold of the purse, its weight keeping it from falling out.
Hands shaking, Katherine wrestled the pistol out and felt its cold, metallic heft in her hand. The feeling of safety; or at least an illusion of it. She swung the pistol toward the dark vehicle. Her dad’s face appeared again. “Just squeeze the trigger, carrot top, never jerk it, you’ll miss every time.”
The man in the dark Toyota had pulled in behind her. Stopping ten meters away, he skidded to a stop, and then eased from his car. The beard. The toothy smile. Those Chicklet teeth. Could he be..? “Hey, lady..?”
Katherine leveled the pistol at his bearded face, holding the little Beretta even with both hands, as Red Boyd had taught her. “None of that fancy-schmancy one-handed shit on TV, carrot top. Use two hands.” She braced the little gun, aimed it directly at the man’s head. “And none’a that warning shot nonsense, either. Shoot to kill. Go after ‘em, or they’ll…” “I know, daddy, I know.” Her heart slammed. The little gun came up, steady, both hands pointed directly at the bearded fellow.
“Whoa, whoa, hey, lady… I just wanted to tell you…” His hands came up too, as if in prayer, his palms waving to stop her. “No, no, no…I just wanted…” He pointed at the Subaru.
“To steal my car? Is that what you wanted? Think you found another redhead with a car to steal?”
Behind her, coffee spewed from Styrofoam cups. Cigarettes fell and sparked on the asphalt. Truckers took cover.
“Lady, look, I just wanted…” The fellow backed off, dropped his hands and hid behind his car door. “Just wanted to tell you…” No more toothy grin. No more wild gestures. No look of calm assurance. The bearded fellow cowered, unblinking, swiping at something on his cheek.
Katherine smelled powder. Felt an ache in her forearm from the kick of the gun. Saw it jump, a finger of smoke curling. The clap in her ears.
The bearded fellow’s finger rose like a pistol barrel. At her. At the purse and its tangled snarl on the car’s luggage rack. Then it fell.
The shot’s echo rippled and died. Then a wary hush. Like the stillness after a rifle’s report in deep woods silencing all, alerting all to danger, announcing the presence of a predator.
